Road to rouen, p.21
Road to Rouen, page 21
When I was done with that, I took out my steno pad. I drew a simple street map of Rouen. I started with the important ones. Route 53, Main Street, Route 80 and Catalpa over on the west side of town. That's where Haskell lived. Then I drew in the grids of streets connecting everything from memory. I studied that a long time, tracing different routes and imagining what was along them. I tried to remember what the layout was west of town but then decided that once you were out in the grid of farm roads it didn't matter much. You were always headed precisely due north or south, due east or west. Not great for beating a tail.
I would need someplace where noise would not be a problem. I fully anticipated this was going to get noisy. Someplace where I couldn't be seen and certainly not interrupted. I looked at the map, again imagining the town. I didn't want to do it outside. Any place accessible enough and remote enough was ripe for a teenage couple to show up. No, it had to be inside. And it would be nice if it were scary as hell. Then it hit me. Tom's barn.
(back to top)
Chapter Thirty Two
The glass of scotch was still on the dresser when I got up. I did my best to pour it back in the bottle, but I pretty much made a mess of it so the room ended up smelling like a bar. But that was all right. I was leaving. Just not right away.
I hung the “do not disturb” sign on the outside door knob and climbed back into bed. I couldn't make the call until after nine. I had until noon to check out. I had time. I was going to use it all.
I grabbed the steno pad, flipped to a clean page and started writing. I began with the dateline.
***
It was remarkably easy. Just before I checked out I made the call. I was chief financial officer of a Detroit-based retail chain interested in building a warehouse and distribution center north of Route 80. We wanted to explore local financing options as a way of supporting the community. And, of course, we would have other financial needs once operational. Would he have a few minutes late today for a preliminary chat on capabilities? Of course he would.
I walked in at quarter to four and announced myself to the secretary. I kept my back to what I took to be his office door. The secretary buzzed him on the intercom and said I was there to see him. He asked her to show me in. Pretentious twit couldn't even get out of his chair. She got up, and I followed her to the door. I stood to the side as she opened it. He didn't see me until she turned back toward her desk.
Before he could move I had the .45 out and trained on him. I held my finger to my lips and motioned with the pistol for him to stand up. I closed the door. I motioned for him to come around from behind the desk. I didn't want him setting off any alarms.
Ten minutes later we left. He told his secretary he was checking on some property with me and would see her tomorrow.
We walked out of the bank like we were two pals headed out for a drink.
***
As I'd guessed, Haskell had not felt the need to be forthcoming in his office. As afraid as he was, he still had decided to keep his mouth shut. I'd first intended to put him in the trunk, but that would have been too much of a scene. I pushed the front seat back and made him curl up on the floor beneath the passenger seat. I kept the .45 trained on him with my left hand. I drove around back streets a while to disorient him and then I headed for the Severson farm. Once we got to the gravel road I had him take off his tie and make a blindfold out of it. That's when he started whimpering. Must have been afraid of the dark.
I parked in the shed. I got him out of the car and held him by the collar while I pushed the doors closed. Then I led him over to the barn. I needed to get some things from the house for this, so I had him sit on the floor against one of the stalls while I tied his hands to the stall slats. I left him blindfolded. I wanted to give him some time to think.
As soon as I got through the unlocked back door of the house I sensed something was wrong. By the time I got up into the kitchen, I saw what that was. The place had been ransacked. I'm sure they didn't know what they were looking for, but they had made sure to look everywhere for it. That sick feeling came back into my stomach and with it rage. I'd try to come back later and clean up as best I could. Right now I had something more important. I gathered everything I needed and carried it out to the barn.
When I got into the barn I let the fireplace poker clang to the ground. He flinched and whimpered at the sound. I put the pail out of sight in the stall next to him. I didn't say anything. I tied his ankles to posts on either side of him, spreading his legs. I left and went to the shed where Tom kept his tools. I had to root around to find what I needed, but I eventually came up with what I wanted. I knew he'd have one.
Back in the barn I closed the doors behind me. There was enough light filtering through chinks in the siding and around the doors to see a little. The silence and shadows made the heavy musty air smell almost pungent.
“What do you want from me?” he cried. “I told you I can't tell you anything!”
I reached down and pulled the tie up his forehead so he could see. I couldn't contain the rage any longer. I lashed out at his jaw with my fist. He yelped. My ribs screamed in pain.
“You piece of shit. That's for Connie... for starters.”
I reached down and unbuckled his belt and unzipped his fly. I pulled his pants and undershorts down to his knees. His eyes wide with fear and pain he watched me back away. I picked up the blow torch from the floor. I flicked my lighter and the torch lit with a roar.
“What are you doing?” he screamed.
I put the blow torch on the floor and picked up the poker. I held the tip in the flame.
“You like to torture women. You should enjoy this.”
“No! No! Jesus Christ! No!” he yelled shaking his head back and forth.
“We can make this simple, or we can make this hard. I'm hoping for hard. Start at the beginning. Tell me everything.”
“I can't! I can't! They'll kill us!”
“They'll be quicker about it than I'm gonna be.”
“No!”
The poker tip had gone from glowing red to pulsing white. I walked over and held the tip just in front of his eyes. He blinked against the heat. He squirmed side to side. I pulled the tie down over his eyes.
“I'm going to give you ten seconds,” I said. “Start at the beginning.” I quickly moved to the next stall and reached into the pail. I returned and held the poker close over his crotch. His pubic hair began to singe. He started screaming.
“Time's up,” I said softly. I quickly jammed the edge of the ice cube I was holding into his groin and held it there for put a second before I pulled it away.
Now he really screamed. “No! Please No! Mother of God, no!”
“Tell me,” again softly. I hovered the poker for him to feel the heat.
“No!”
Again I thrust the ice cube into his crotch.
“Aaaarrgh!” came a scream as loud as a man could make. Just like screams I'd heard in the jungle.
“I'm starting to enjoy this, Frank,” I said all friendly. “Let's continue. Let me just take a second to heat the poker back up. Maybe we can burn something off next time. Or maybe an eye. Yes, an eye might be fun.”
He started sobbing. “No, no, please no. No more. I'll tell you. I'll tell you.”
“Go on.”
“Carl. It was Carl. He got us mixed up with some group in France. He recruited us. We didn't know 'til later what it was all about.”
“Later being after the first party.”
“Yes.”
“You thought the party a good idea?”
“Yes. We all did.”
“Go on.”
“It was like extortion. They would kill us if we didn't pay, if we didn't participate. We couldn't quit. We had to go on. They killed Loomis for Christ's sakes.”
“What about Connie?”
“They provided the first girl. Then they demanded we send them one. Carl was going to send Cathy, but then Connie came home. She found out what was going on and went instead.”
“Why did you kill her?”
“I had nothing to do with that. I swear to God.”
I tossed the ice cube aside. I lifted the tie from his eyes. I stepped back and put the poker tip in the fire.
“You all had your way with her, didn't you?”
“No! No! Wasn't me! It was Charlie! Charlie and Alice! Carl too. They liked it. I had enough. Just watched.”
“Who killed her?”
“One of theirs.”
“Who killed him?”
His eyes went wild again. “How did you...?”
“Who?”
“Charlie.”
“Why?”
“He'd wanted to do it himself. He said he had special plans for her. He got crazy.”
I took the poker from the fire and stepped toward him. I held it in front of his face.
“You let that happen, you son of a bitch”
“No! No! God! None of us wanted that. He was out of control.”
I backed away and turned off the torch. I propped the poker on the torch. He looked down at himself. He realized he wasn't burned.
“You didn't...?”
“Not yet. I have special plans for you.” I took the .45 out from my belt.
“Oh, Jesus!”
“How much are you paying?”
“Three thousand a month from each of us. They're bleeding us dry. We can't keep it up.”
“Who besides you and the Fowlers?”
“Jim Rittberger and Ben Northrup.”
“And your wives?”
“Yes.”
“Rittberger can afford that?”
“We're helping him. He's to protect us.”
“Any other cops?”
“I don't think so.”
“How do you pay?”
“I collect the money. Wire it to Paris.”
“Réage International?”
“Yes. How...?”
“Insurance. There was insurance on Connie.”
“They insure the girls.”
“Why was I the beneficiary?”
“Charlie had them change it. You take the fall then get killed.”
“You split the money?”
“We need it to pay them.”
“Marie, the housekeeper?”
“She found out. They sent a man to do it. That's all I know.”
“They have a man at the parties?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“I don't know. Carl calls him Jacques.”
“Where is he?”
“I don't know. He stays in the housekeeper's apartment when he's there.”
“The girls?”
“I don't know. I think they're brought down from Chicago.”
“When's the next party?”
“Two weeks.”
I kept the pistol trained on his eyes. I used my free hand to untie his ankles, then his wrists. I stood up and took a step back.
“Get up.”
“What are you doing?”
“Get up.”
He pulled his pants halfway up, rolled to his knees and stood up.
“Pull your pants on. We're walking,” I commanded.
“Oh, Jesus.”
“Shut up.”
We first went to the Chevy where I retrieved the portfolio. Then we walked to the house. When we got into the kitchen I righted an overturned chair and told him to sit at the table. I took out the steno pad and a pen. I put them in front of him.
“I'm dictating. You're writing.” I indicated the pen with the pistol.
He picked it up.
***
He was on the floor again for the ride back to Rouen. It was almost eight o'clock and dark. We parked in the alley behind the bank. After he unlocked the back door he disabled the alarm. We went to his office. He unlocked the file drawer in his desk and took out the folder that held the receipts for the wire transfers. He handed it to me.
“Please,” he begged. “Please, I've done everything you want.”
“Shut up.”
I motioned with the pistol. We left the office. He re-armed the alarm and locked the door. He got back on the floor of the Chevy.
I drove out of town over the bridge. I turned left on the county road, then left again onto the lane leading to the river. I stopped the car at the river bank. I got out, walked around and opened the passenger door.
“Get out,” I said.
He stepped from the car and looked around. “Where are we?”
“Where you killed Connie.”
He looked at the .45 in my hand. “Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. No!”
“Get in the river.”
“What?”
“Walk into the river. I'll tell you when to stop”
“No!”
I risked a shot at his feet. Bam! went echoing through the trees. Mud spattered against him. He jumped back. He started to shake.
“Do it!” I yelled.
He turned around and gingerly waded into the cold rushing water. He was trembling uncontrollably moaning, “Oh God, Oh God, Oh God.” When he was thigh deep I ordered him to stop.
“Put your hands behind your head and keep them there!”
He did it, still shaking, half bent over in terror.
I moved to the car. “Stay there until you don't hear me anymore.”
“Please! Please!” he begged. He started blubbering.
I got in and started the car. I backed up and quickly turned around and floored it back up the lane. I needed every minute I could get. His first call would be to Rittberger.
(back to top)
Chapter Thirty Three
I knocked on Judy's door and waited. I could see her approach through the curtained window. She peeked through the lace and then opened the door.
“Roy! You!” She was surprised.
“Let me in. Gotta talk.”
She backed away to let me in. “What is it? What's wrong?”
I waited for her to shut the door. “I was right. Your Doc Northrup is in on it. You can't go in there anymore.”
“What? What are you talking about? I work there.”
“Not any more. All hell is going to break loose. You can't be there.
“Wha...?”
“Listen to me. You've got to pack up Margie and get out of town. I don't know where you can go, but you gotta go there. Tonight. Morning latest.”
“Are you crazy?”
“The world is crazy. The Fowlers, Northrup, Rittberger and Haskell are all part of the ring. You can't be around any of them.”
She looked at me like I was a lunatic. “I'm not going anywhere. This is my home.”
“It'll be your home again after this blows over. Right now it's not safe. You may know too much and they know it.”
“Who?”
“An organization out of France. It's been extorting the locals. It's been killing people. It's the guy who came to your door. It's who's been trying to kill me.”
“You can't be serious!”
“You think I put myself in that hospital? You think I'm running and hiding for nothing?”
“Roy! Don't do this to me!”
“Do what? Save your life? Save Margie's life?”
“I don't know where to go!”
“Yes you do. Who was that pickup truck Saturday?”
I'd made her mad again. She frowned. Then defiant she said, “My ex. He was here for Margie.”
“Go there. He's down south right?”
“Peoria.”
“Perfect. Call him right now.”
“What do I tell him?”
“I don't know – the house is getting fumigated. Margie misses him. It's an emergency. Whatever. Just do it.”
She lowered her eyes. I was getting through. “All right,” she said.
“Do it now. I've got to go.”
“Stay just a little while?”
“Can't. Gotta get out of here. Get me his number. I'll call when it's okay.”
“Are you all right?”
“Not yet.”
***
I couldn't go back to the farm. Haskell would tell Rittberger he'd been in a barn, and Rittberger would make a beeline for Severson's. I also had to swap out the Chevy in Joliet as soon as I could. I ended up at a motel south of Joliet in Channahon, the only one in the little burg. It had once been a thriving little place when the canal meant anything. It died a little when the train passed it by. And it died even more when Route 80 passed to its north. After the scare with the cop car trolling the motel lot in Joliet, I wanted to stay out of that jurisdiction.
The room wasn't as nice as the hotel in Geneva, but it would do. It had a phone. Knotty pine doesn’t go with cornfields.
I called Tom's cousin. Cathy came on the line. I told her that she and Tom should stay away from the farm until further notice. I told her the place had been searched and that things were heating up and that it wasn't safe. She agreed and told me to be careful.
I'd never called Marty at home because he'd told me he still lived with his parents and he'd asked me not to except in an emergency. But that's what this had turned out to be. I dug his card out of my wallet. He'd written the number on the back.
“Hello?” A female voice.
“Hello, this is Roy Cutter. A client of Marty's. Is he available?
“Who?”
“Roy Cutter.”
“No, who are you calling?”
“Marty Schein.”
She put her hand over the phone, but I could still her yell, “Martin, you have a phone call! Come downstairs!” Then, to me, “He'll be right with you.”
It wasn't long and it was Marty.
“Hello?”
“It's Roy. I need you to file motions again to get the autopsy and the death certificate. First thing tomorrow.”
“What's going on?”
“Doc Northrup is in on the conspiracy. Along with Rittberger and Carl and Charlie. Frank Haskell too. Insurance was a setup for me to take the rap and then get killed. We need to collect.”
